


Catcall

by softgrungeprophet



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Identity Reveal, Light Bondage, M/M, Sexual Content, Spideytorch Week 2020, Theft, only peter though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25085014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softgrungeprophet/pseuds/softgrungeprophet
Summary: Peter Parker is a jerk.So why does Johnny like him so much?
Relationships: Peter Parker/Johnny Storm
Comments: 6
Kudos: 68
Collections: SpideyTorch Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter has sex near the end. The rest are almost entirely about feelings lol
> 
> Enjoy!

The roar of an engine and a sharp whistle broke the otherwise peaceful atmosphere at the park, as Johnny straightened up from where he'd been signing things for some young fans.

"Give you a ride, pretty boy?"

_Peter Parker._

Johnny rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, none too amused at the handsome, dark-haired man and his bad-boy motorcycle. Sure, he pulled it off okay, in an artsy kind of way with the leather jacket over the turtleneck, and the no-helmet attitude, and the pompadour, but god what an insufferable guy.

"I have a _car_ , thanks." Johnny strode toward the parking lot, which, unfortunately, took him closer to Peter. Peter just eyed him with this smug look. Like he'd already won—what the competition was, Johnny couldn't say. Just that Peter always seemed to come out on top.

Maybe it was because he'd parked his bike right next to Johnny's Cotswold blue '63 XK-E, forcing Johnny to move between him and the car to unlock it.

The sensation of Peter watching him from so close was practically physical, crawling up the back of his neck in half-formed goosebumps that his powers couldn't soothe.

"Ride with me anyway." Low and quiet.

Johnny looked over his shoulder, with the door a crack open and the key still in the lock.

Dark eyes held him frozen, with the kind of gravity only Peter Parker could exude. The same gravity that had coaxed Johnny into more than one secret makeout session behind closed doors at the glitzy shindigs Johnny loved and Peter claimed to hate.

Johnny hesitated…

He shut the car door softly, and locked it again.

Peter's slow grin was both infuriating and magnetic—Johnny climbed onto the back of his motorcycle and almost the second his arms locked around Peter's waist, the engine roared to life and they were off.

He really hated Peter.

As for his reckless driving?

Mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was terrifying, even to Johnny—who made half a living racing cars. On the other hand the split-second turns Peter made as he wove his way through traffic like a spider weaving its web never failed to get Johnny's heart racing. To be fair, maybe that was the "terror" part, still. But he'd be lying if he didn't admit to enjoying it at least a little bit. It was bullshit—like a scene out of a movie—but it was fun and he loved the _speed_ of it. The exhilaration. He never got tired of that, whether it was here on Peter's bike, or out on the track, or anywhere else.

And somehow, Peter _never_ got pulled over despite breaking at least a _few_ different laws.

"Where are you taking me?!" Johnny had to shout over the traffic, the engine, the hum in his blood.

Peter didn't answer. His body was like a machine, precise and angular, and Johnny could feel the power hidden underneath his clothes. Lean, lithe… How a paparazzi photojournalist packed that much condensed muscle, Johnny had no clue, but he wasn't about to complain.

The apartment building Peter pulled up outside of, though—maybe he'd complain a _little_. It was a rundown shithole from the outside and Johnny had been hoping for something more along the lines of a scenic drive or… street-racing or something.

Not… this.

"Here." Peter dismounted. "I—"

Johnny cut him off. "You picked me up to take me home?"

Peter smirked as he unlocked the front door to the building, shrugged a little, watching Johnny sidelong. "Is that what you want?" He disappeared inside, leaving the front door propped open with a brick.

"I'm not your _toy!_ " Johnny called after him, still seated on the bike. He wasn't some airheaded little thing for Peter to play around with. He had principles and preferences and his preferences did _not_ involve unplanned hook-ups in crappy apartments. "I thought—I don't know what I thought." He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Peter couldn't even hear him at this point. Probably long-gone inside, or waiting, or…

" _Stupid_ …" Johnny cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, "I'm leaving!"

No response…

"Fuck."

Johnny climbed off Peter's motorcycle and ran into the building in as cool and totally-not-desperate of a manner as he could manage.

The elevator was busted, the lobby deserted. Johnny could sense the traces of Peter's body heat and followed that up the stairwell, steps of lingering warmth radiating at regular intervals until Johnny found himself in front of Peter's apartment. The door ajar, as if he could not care less whether someone decided to sneak in and steal something.

Not that Johnny bothered to close it either. After all, if Peter wasn't gonna do it, why should _he_?

"Peter?"

The apartment was… extremely shitty, but had vintage jazz playing on the most expensive sound system Johnny had ever seen, barring his own. The living room was a whirlwind of papers, photography paraphernalia, science equipment being used as paperweights, wrappers and chip bags, dirty laundry, _clean_ laundry— _and_ it looked like it had never been dusted, but… It had a weird sense of organization to it.

Also there was a vintage bicycle hanging from the ceiling.

"You are never getting your deposit back, I hope you know that." Johnny eyed a dent in the wall next to the ceiling-mounted bike rack.

The reply was muffled, but did confirm that Peter was in fact somewhere in his apartment. Probably suffocating under a pile of argyle sweaters or leather jackets or something.

Johnny rolled his eyes and amused himself by snooping. There was a lot of boring shit, at least to him. Reed probably would have been very interested in some of the nerdier science stuff laying around, but Johnny could make neither heads nor tails of most of it, aside from a few more engineering-focused pieces. Even those, though… way above his paygrade.

He nudged aside a paper and a glimmer caught his eye—

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me."

Peter made a questioning noise from the depths of his bedroom.

"Is this the _HOPE DIAMOND_?!"

A beat of silence.

"…No?"

Johnny went a little bug-eyed, clutching the priceless necklace in one hand.

"I was gonna give it back." Peter popped his head through the doorway, hair disheveled and wearing a dressing robe. "…Eventually."

Johnny waved the diamond at Peter. " _Eventually_?! This thing is literally priceless!" He didn’t remotely know what to do with himself. "How'd you even _get_ this?"

Peter shrugged, unbothered as could be, and leaned against the doorframe. "Oh, you know." He smirked. "You wanna try it on?"

Johnny could practically feel the blood drain from his face.

There were myriad reasons he couldn't possibly imagine wearing a presumably stolen historically significant piece of jewelry that was insured for over 200 million dollars, and was currently supposed to be in the _Museum of Natural History_ , and instead was in the apartment of a paparazzo who liked to read Avicenna and make a nuisance of himself.

All Johnny managed to say was, "I'm not dressed for it."

Peter quirked his eyebrow.

"So undress for it."

He looked so damn smug, leaning against the doorframe in his dumb silk robe, with his crooked cat-got-the-cream smile. He waggled his eyebrows, and Johnny swore he could feel his soul exiting his body. This was it. He was going to die now, from mortification or possibly exasperation, and it would all be Peter Parker's fault for trying to charm him.

Johnny blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Seriously." Peter came closer, pushing away from the wall. He took Johnny's wrist, fingers long and strong and calloused, and coaxed the centuries-old treasure from Johnny's hand. He spoke, as he unclasped the setting, and moved behind Johnny. "Just take your shirt off, if you're that concerned about it clashing."

Of course _that_ was what Peter had decided to focus on.

"No, seriously _yourself_." Johnny fought off the goosebumps that tried to whisper up his neck from Peter's touch and the coldness of the necklace. The weight of the diamond. "Why do you _have_ this?"

No answer. Just fingers dancing down the back of his neck, to trace the line of his spine through his Versace shirt.

Typical.

"You suck."

Peter hummed, with a quiet sort of laugh. "Last time I checked, the one doing the sucking was you, actually." He pulled at Johnny's shirt until the hem came free from the high waist of his jeans.

One time.

 _One_ time, champagne drunk, in a bathroom. He was never gonna live it down.

"I hate you." A firm declaration, definitely not even remotely wavering under Peter's attention.

Peter brushed his lips against Johnny's neck, just behind his ear, and murmured, "No you don't."

His hands were warm in the particular way warmth felt to Johnny, peculiar and notable but almost like a distant sensation, offset by the acuteness of work-roughened skin—palms sliding up his sides, under his shirt. Johnny bit his lip, leaning back against Peter—he could feel himself falling into his touch, no resistance.

"Super hate you…"

No heat behind it.

It didn't take much to get Johnny out of his shirt and through the bedroom door, and not much more to leave the jeans behind, on his back in the darkness with the striped linen sheets against his skin and Peter kissing him gently.

So much for principles.

"You drive me crazy…" Johnny spoke between kisses, against Peter's lips. "You know that?"

Peter made a low, amused sound in his throat, and ducked his head to trace his mouth down Johnny's throat, around the necklace he'd hung there, as his hand wandered lower. Johnny's breath hitched at his playful touch—but Peter drew his hand back up and just settled on Johnny to kiss him deep, his body a solid steel weight of muscle and bone and heat.

A whisper—"Speak for yourself, hot stuff."

Johnny huffed.

They kissed each other slowly for what felt like an eternity—a pleasant infinity—hands occasionally intertwining only to separate, fingers parting locks of hair and trailing lines in half-formed patterns. Johnny let his skin glow under the surface where Peter touched him, in moments, and Peter murmured something soft and full of praise against his skin that he couldn't quite parse.

"What was that…?" Johnny shifted under Peter's attentions.

Peter hummed. "Are you fishing for compliments?" He grinned, and nipped at Johnny's ear.

"Who, me?" Johnny tilted his chin up. " _Never_." 

Seemingly unconvinced, Peter simply traced the tip of his nose up Johnny's jawline, dropping a soft kiss just below his pierced earlobe. His hands moved slowly, as he shifted back, up onto his knees to draw his fingers down Johnny's sides and grasp his hips. Johnny's chest rose with a deep breath, and he let it out, leaving his own hands still beside his head. Just… waiting. Watching.

Peter thumbed at the curve of his hip bone, lips barely parting as if to say something—but nothing. He'd pinned Johnny's legs beneath his weight, heightening his nerves just a little bit. His own body was cut with heavy shadows, only slightly lit from a dim lamp in the corner with a sheet thrown over it.

His eyes gleamed black in the darkness.

"I want to tie you up..."

Johnny pulled in a soft breath. "I thought you wanted to give me a ride."

Peter smirked. Turned his eyes downward, to drag the tip of his finger down Johnny's hip and thigh. "Hmmmm…" His silky robe had fallen from his shoulders and pooled around his own hips, grazing Johnny's skin. It was impossible to deny the aura of intensity that seeped from his posture despite his casual, calm demeanor. Every muscle in wait, a panther lying loose but ready. "Can't I have both?"

How to respond…

"Dinner _and_ dessert?" Johnny let himself be light against Peter's weight. "For free?"

Peter laughed under his breath—he stood from the bed, and let his robe succumb to gravity, leaving it somewhere on the floor. Probably would have been sexier if Johnny didn't already know there was laundry all over the place.

As it was…

"You're lucky you're handsome." Johnny sat up, leaning on his palms in an effort to come across as more casual than he felt. More comfortable flirting. Don't think about it as flirting, or seduction, necessarily… Think about it like a photoshoot. Evoke the tone… Peter was a photographer after all. What better way than to treat him like the camera—his eyes dark apertures. "But I should warn you I have sensitive skin."

"Ah…" Peter dug around in his closet, bare back to Johnny. Lots of admirable planes of muscle to ogle. "Don't worry your pretty little head." The smirk was palpable in his voice. "I have very soft rope."

Johnny watched him move, a little flutter in his chest.

"How experienced are you?" Peter pulled out a weird looking pair of scissors and snipped them in the air, looking over his shoulder at Johnny.

Johnny bit his lip and made a face. "Uh… none?" He shrugged. "No experience. One time I got hogtied by Spider-Man? But that wasn't sexy." He paused. "Well, mostly—I-it was kinda sexy, but I've never admitted that before—"

Peter seemed to hesitate a moment, dark-colored rope draped over his shoulder very casually. He eyed Johnny, and said, "We can just have vanilla sex if you want. I don't want to pressure you."

Now, to be fair, Johnny hadn't even intended to have _any_ kind of sex with Peter today or ever (impromptu wedding reception bathroom blowjob notwithstanding), so this was already, in its own way, pressure. Already outside of his imagined plans for the afternoon—drive fast, take some selfies, maybe grab an ice cream cone. But he was in Peter's weirdly expensive bed, in his shitty apartment, jazz playing from the living room, faced with the prospect of vanilla sex versus slightly-less-vanilla sex, and just seeing Peter with the rope had his stomach feeling some kind of way…

"I-I mean…" Johnny shrugged a little, rubbing his legs together as he considered. "We can just—?" How to phrase this. "Just a little bit?"

Peter's expression softened, and Johnny felt himself melting.

"Just a little bit." Peter tossed the rope at the bed and it landed at Johnny's feet, a deep navy blue. "Just enough to make you pretty."

"I'm already pretty." Automatic response.

Peter raised his eyebrows as he approached.

Johnny matched his look with his own stubborn expression.

Peter leaned over to kiss him, supporting himself with his hands on either side of Johnny's hips.

How he managed to take Johnny's breath away like this—

"I'm trying to remember why I hate you so much..." Johnny chased after Peter's kiss even as Peter withdrew. "But you're so good at kissing I keep forgetting."

Peter caught him in another kiss, just a little indulgence, and murmured, "Easy to get confused when your head is full of air."

"Ah—" Johnny laughed, only a little bit exasperated. "You jogged my memory."

Peter grinned crookedly. And then he turned a little more serious. Voice firm, tone low, eyes searching. "Do you trust me?" He didn't move away. "Like _really_ trust me. Trust me with your hands tied."

For a moment, Johnny thought.

Despite everything—the paparazzi shots, the negging, the attitude—it didn't take much thinking for him to say, "Yes."

And in this case, it was true.

Peter nodded. "Okay." He laughed, a quiet, sharp breath as he ducked his head. "You shouldn't, but okay."

He shifted slightly, eyes cast downward… His hands found Johnny's hips, and he pulled him forward, to the edge of the mattress. Took a moment to lean down and kiss him again, his hand firm on the back of Johnny's neck. An awkward angle but just as breath-stealing as every other kiss.

"If you want me to stop, tell me to stop." Peter reached for his rope, pulling it out the way he wanted it. "No roleplaying, here. No means no, no exceptions. Any sign of discomfort and I'll stop." He locked eyes with Johnny again. "Okay?"

Johnny hesitated. It wasn't like he couldn't just burn the ropes.

Peter didn't move.

"It's either okay or it isn't."

Johnny nodded. "Okay." He smiled up at Peter, hoping to imbue it with the right amounts of flirtatious and bright to let Peter know he was speaking the truth. "Tie me up."

Only then did Peter move, and there was just something so arresting in this side of him as he helped Johnny to his feet. Not just the ropes, but in the side of him that was so stern and careful, only willing to work with the go-ahead. He acted like such a jerk most of the time, this consideration was refreshing. And as he worked, he talked.

"I'm not going to do anything _too_ out there." Peter pulled Johnny's wrists in front of him. "I'm also not going to bind your legs, and I'm not going to gag you…" He caught Johnny's eye. "Yet."

A shiver flittered through Johnny's insides, and Peter's mouth twitched up at the corner as if he could tell the way that made him feel. But he moved on.

"I'm going to use a kind of box tie." His touch was gentle and purposeful, as he coaxed Johnny's hands into place so Johnny grasped his own elbows, hugging himself loosely. Peter began to loop the rope around his wrists in slow, well-practiced movements. "I'm binding your wrists in the front so it's more comfortable." He slipped his fingers under the rope as he worked, testing the slack and the tightness as he knotted the rope. He met Johnny's eyes again. "Okay?"

Johnny tried to kiss him, and he laughed into it.

"With words, sweetheart."

Johnny pouted, but he said, "Okay."

"Okay. Good." Peter resumed, prodding at Johnny's arms, almost like a doctor. His brows had this little furrow between them, creased with thought—he began to loop the rope around Johnny's shoulders, very particular about their placement. "Now we're going to do this…"

Johnny lost track of his explanations at this point, not familiar with rope or knot terminology, but the cadence of his voice was soothing, and he never made the ropes too tight or pinch-y. It wove in and out, pulling tension here and there, Johnny turning as needed under Peter's touch, and after a few minutes Peter was done.

"There." He stood back, setting his hands on his hips as he admired his handiwork. "Isn't that pretty?"

The binding crossed Johnny's arms and torso straight across in two places, as well as wrapping around his chest with each horizontal wrap, forming a vertical stack of knots in the front connecting everything. Secure, but not uncomfortable, with the perfect amount of space for Peter's stolen diamond necklace to rest just below Johnny's collarbone.

"Wow." Johnny wiggled a little—definitely secure. The Hope Diamond looked almost black in the dim light, framed by glittering white diamonds, and the dark blue rope matched, stark against Johnny's pale pink skin. "This is… wow."

Peter laughed. He ran his hand along his own work, down Johnny's arm… Gave him a little nudge, guiding him to sit on the mattress again. He looked down at Johnny, and Johnny looked up at him—he brought his hand up to rest a knuckle under Johnny's chin, and pressed his thumb to Johnny's bottom lip.

"You look beautiful."

It was hard not to blush under that attention, intense and hot.

Impossible not to be turned on.

Peter's touch was feather-light, up Johnny's cheekbone, his brow—he grabbed a handful of Johnny's hair.

"Mm—" Johnny frowned, scrunching his face up. "Don't do that."

Peter's grip loosened immediately and he smoothed Johnny's hair down. "Sorry." He leaned down to give Johnny a quick kiss. "What do you want me to do to you?"

That phrasing…

Johnny sighed, a little shaky. He liked this. Just touching, the way Peter was doing now—rubbing the pads of his thumbs in soft little circles just below the sharp curve of Johnny's cheekbone. Gentle. Soothing.

"I want your hands…" Johnny let his eyes half-shut.

Peter hummed. "I can do that." He cupped Johnny's face. "Can I take a picture of you like this?"

Johnny narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Why?"

Peter raised his eyebrows. "I'm not going to sell it to any tabloids." He nudged at Johnny's shoulders, and Johnny scooted awkwardly back up toward the head of the bed. "I just want a pretty picture of you for… _personal_ use." He did that thing he always did with his face, trying to be charming, mostly coming off pervy, still somehow actually charming in the end.

"…Fine." Johnny lay back against the pillows, unsure what exactly to do with his legs. He kept them closed for the time being. "But if I ever find it on the internet or in a newspaper or anywhere other than your phone, I'm setting your pubes on fire."

He got a laugh out of Peter for his efforts at sounding threatening. "Don't worry. I'm an invasive photographer, not a _monster_."

Peter rummaged around, and cracked open the blinds just enough to wash Johnny in late afternoon sunlight. Unsurprisingly, rather than his phone, he retrieved his SLR, and immediately began fussing over it as he settled on his knees on the end of the mattress.

"Okay—" He held his camera up to look at Johnny through the viewfinder—so old school it didn't even have a digital screen, and probably used film—and adjusted the lens. "Would you mind opening your legs for me?"

All that was visible behind the camera was his smirk.

Johnny couldn't think of any reason not to, with Peter watching him through the lens like that… He drew his legs up and spread his feet, splaying his knees as he lay very nude and very vulnerable before Peter. Peter purred a quiet bit of praise, a soft "Good boy…" as he lined up his shot.

"God…" Johnny let his head fall back against the pillows. "Just take the picture and get on with it."

Peter clucked his tongue—but there was an audible click. "Someone's impatient." He took another, and moved closer, until his knees pressed right up against Johnny's skin. Close, but not close enough. Johnny squirmed a little bit, and Peter took one hand off the camera to grasp Johnny's knee. "Cool your heels, firecracker, I'll touch you in a minute."

Johnny held still for Peter.

Peter's hand drifted down the inside of his thigh.

Lower.

Johnny's eyelashes fluttered and he tried not to move, but Peter was very good with his hands, and the binds were a new sensation—Johnny curled and uncurled his fingers (and toes) with a hitch in his breath, with Peter's fingers quickly finding his most sensitive spots. This was a lot to take in. The camera, the ropes, the diamonds, Peter's touch. All coming together so Johnny's mouth fell open with a gasp.

The camera clicked again.

"Good…" Peter's voice got right under Johnny's skin, low praise sending little shivers through him. "Very, very good." He set his camera aside to focus on Johnny.

Only once or twice did Peter stop touching Johnny—with his mouth, his hands—and each time was simply to pick his camera back up just for a second. Just enough for a snapshot, with his fingers through the leather strap.

Johnny stared at the ceiling as Peter coaxed him hotter and higher and he knew he must have been making a weird face but Peter didn't say anything. It was really all Johnny could do just to keep his eyes from unfocusing.

Further… further still…

Johnny pushed up against Peter's tongue with a quiet moan.

Peter leaned away.

And of course Johnny couldn't do anything about it, with his hands firmly tied in front of his chest.

He breathed in deep, throat exposed just for Peter to lean up and kiss. He breathed out, "Fuck…"

"You doing okay?" Peter nosed at Johnny's ear.

Johnny nodded. "Yeah." He curled his toes into the sheets and spread his knees a little wider. "Please…"

Peter leaned over the edge of the bed to grab something—lube—and dripped a little on Johnny's skin just to smooth things along, testing and teasing with his fingertips. It tingled slightly, and Johnny bit his lip, trying in spite of his bindings and his position to set a slow rocking rhythm to match Peter's touch. Peter let him, this time. Very quiet. Very focused. He sent shivers up Johnny's spine with every lick and caress and hum as he touched himself too. Johnny swore under his breath, panting. He could feel himself getting closer and closer, each breath sharp with pleasure—

And apparently so could Peter, because he immediately straightened up with his camera in one hand and the other still teasing Johnny, and the shutter went off almost the same moment Johnny's panting turned into a broken, feverish gasp and an equally fractured moan. And Peter kept it going, working him through it one-handed, until Johnny's gasps for air settled down into heavy breathing and he sagged bonelessly into the sheets.

Peter snapped another photo.

Johnny huffed.

"So." Peter set his camera aside again. "Thoughts?"

Johnny grinned a little lopsided, breathless. "Nonexistent."

Peter seemed very pleased with that answer. He settled his hands on Johnny's knees, and ran them down his thighs so he could reach around and give Johnny's ass a squeeze. "Okay." He feathered them back up, making Johnny shiver. "Now. Thoughts on _me_ … fucking you."

"Mm." Johnny scrunched his face up.

"No?" Peter tilted his head, questioning.

Johnny shrugged as best he could. "Not today."

Peter nodded, as he considered Johnny. "Later, then." He dug his fingers into the space behind Johnny's knees, sending that weird tingle up the sides of his legs and torso. "How do the ropes feel?"

A good question. So much more concerned than Johnny ever would have expected.

Johnny hummed thoughtfully. "Good, but…"

"But…?" Peter raised his eyebrows.

Johnny shrugged again. "Can't really return the favor with my hands tied."

Peter smiled, smug like a cat. "Not with that attitude… But we should probably take them off." He slid his hands forward, up to the ropes binding Johnny, and carefully began to work the ending knot loose. It took him significantly less time to untie Johnny than it took him to tie him up in the first place, deft hands making quick work of the blue cotton ropes. Tossed aside with the camera, freeing Johnny up—remarkably mark-free, but then again Peter had been very careful not to tie him too tightly.

There were a few slightly tender spots, pink quickly fading to their normal color, and that was all.

"C'mere." Johnny held his arms out.

No hesitation—Peter flopped onto him, and their mouths met briefly as Johnny ran his hand down Peter's strong chest, taut stomach… He pushed Peter onto his back, and Peter allowed it. He watched him with hooded eyes, as Johnny gave him an experimental stroke—just getting started, with a palmful of that tingling lube. The bottle advertised it as " _intensely intimate_."

Of course Peter Parker wasn't fully content to just lay back and let it happen, as Johnny got everything nice and slippery. His hand joined Johnny's, and they worked around each other. He leaned up a little to coax Johnny down with him, locking lips with a low rumble in his chest. Johnny was fine with that. He liked the way Peter snuck his tongue into his mouth, teasing and weirdly possessive with his free hand pressed flat against Johnny's back.

Peter groaned, and left Johnny to stroke him on his own—his hand slipped between Johnny's thighs to feel him, exploratory, and Johnny bit back a breath, lost in their kisses. Peter's half-slick hand ran all over his body, over his skin, tweaking his nipples and briefly grasping his jaw, tickling the side of his ribs and dancing back down to grope his ass. Johnny sighed into Peter's mouth and tried to focus on moving his hand just right, just the way to get Peter's breath to stutter, to get him to dig his fingers into the soft skin of Johnny's thigh with a low grunt.

Johnny gave Peter's lip a gentle bite, and Peter grinned, reaching up to take Johnny's face in both of his hands. He held Johnny there, deepening their kiss just for a moment, definitely getting lube in his hair. Johnny broke it, nosing around to nibble at Peter's earlobe, twisting his hand just-so at the same time—

" _Fuck_ …" Peter breathed out low and slow, a quiet moan underlying, hips lifting from the mattress just slightly. He slung his arms behind his head. "Just like that, pretty boy."

The two of them went on like that for quite a while—Peter had a great deal of stamina, and apparently a lot of libido to spare. Flexibility, too, and tricky fingers. Johnny couldn't remember the last time a guy made him come more than once. Maybe never. Usually they just got off and fell asleep on top of him. Peter didn't do that.

Though he did leave Johnny in bed at one point, literally seconds before coming, to close the front door to the apartment.

 _Oops_.

After the third time (or was it the fourth?) with Peter's tongue pressing inside of him, Johnny could barely keep his eyes open. Peter offered him a ratty old cloth, dampened in the sink, and wiped him down with soft kisses. It almost devolved into another round but Johnny murmured, "No…" half asleep, and Peter stopped without hesitation.

Johnny slept like the dead all through the evening, at least four hours, and woke up alone in the middle of the night.

He grumbled, reaching up to rub his face as he sat up—he found a sticky note stuck to his forehead.

Classy.

He squinted at it in the dark, and lit up a finger so he could read Peter's chicken scratch.

 _You can stay the night but I don't have food and the shower's broken_.

Johnny rolled his eyes.

When Johnny went to use the bathroom he found that by "broken" Peter meant "literally physically broken into pieces." It looked like someone had ripped the faucet out of the wall.

Yeah, he was definitely _not_ staying the night. Sue was probably worried sick, anyway.

Looking in the mirror he realized that while he'd fallen asleep in Peter's stolen necklace, his throat was bare now. He reached up to brush a finger over his naked collarbone, eyeing himself. His hair was a disaster with dried lube tangled into it, and he had pillow lines on his face, and a very noticeable hickey just below his jawline (and two more on his collarbone…) Peter definitely knew how to make his presence known, that was for sure. Johnny poked at it, tilting his head to get a good look at the red skin.

Johnny splashed some water on his face and used a little burst of flame to clean any remaining residue from his body before heading back to Peter's room to retrieve his clothes and get dressed.

His stomach growled—he could really go for something high in calories and bad for his arteries. Break the healthy eating, just for a little cheat day.

But first…

He had to go get his car.

He couldn't find his keys.

Anywhere.

Not on the floor, not in Peter's laundry, not in the sheets. Not on or under any surface. He even checked the fridge. There was no trace of them. Not his phone, either. None of his personal belongings were anywhere to be found, except for the diamond studs in his ears.

"Shit." Johnny patted down his pockets as if his wallet would magically appear. "Shit, shit, _shit_."

That fucking _thief_.

Johnny hopped out onto Peter's fire escape with a glower and flamed on, trying to remember just what direction they'd come from and which park he'd left the Jag… Hoping against all logic that maybe he'd just dropped his keys in the parking lot or something. (As if that would have been any better.)

He rose up fast, leaving a streak of shimmering white flame behind him, lighting up the night sky as he flew.

Though he didn't have high hopes, he flew back to the park where Peter had picked him up—sure enough, the Jaguar was gone, the parking lot completely empty. Johnny lingered long enough to kick a loose rock, and then launched himself back into the night sky.

He flew big and fast and bright, leaving loud, long flames behind him as he let off his anger.

Couldn't even buy a goddamn hamburger to cheer himself up, without his wallet.

A catcall caught his attention, and he felt his flames surge briefly—

 _Spider-Man_.

"Well if it isn't flame-boy!"

Johnny changed direction abruptly to land in a shower of sparks on top of the building Spidey had just swung to.

"Lemme guess." He planted his hands on his hips and leaned over the edge of the roof to glare at Spider-Man, who clung to the side of the building like the weirdo he was, in his jet black suit with the big bronze eyes. "You’re gonna neg me, too."

In a blur—the blink of an eye—Spidey was right in Johnny's face, just tall enough to loom into his space as he purred, "Who, me?"

Another flash of movement—he caught Johnny, grabbing him close only to dip him so low Johnny was practically horizontal. Spidey and his stupid super-strength and his stupid athletic body and his stupid, sexy, skintight costume.

"Let go of me!"

Spider-Man dropped him.

Johnny yelped as he landed flat on his back.

Naturally, Spider-Man laughed at him.

"Jerk…" Johnny dusted himself off as he stood, letting out a little puff of flame. He kept his hair alight, just as a warning, and crossed his arms. "What are you doing, anyway? On your way home from robbing another bank?"

Spidey mirrored his posture, only to prowl around him in a circle, slow steps—"Why should _I_ …" He came close enough for their shoulders to brush. "…tell _you_?"

He leaned in, unafraid of Johnny's flames, the light gleaming off his golden lenses.

Johnny licked his lips a little nervously, but held his ground.

Spider-Man chuckled, and stepped back. "So brave." He tilted his chin as he considered Johnny, unreadable behind his dark mask. Nonetheless, it felt like being undressed, from the blank bronze gaze alone, and Johnny felt uniquely exposed. "Look at _those_ pretty red marks…"

Johnny's hand flew up to his neck, and he blushed. "It's—they're nothing."

"Mm-hmm…" Spidey slunk closer again, once more just shy of touching. "A little birdy tells me you had some _fun_ this afternoon."

Johnny glared, and turned his back to Spider-Man with a huff. " _Fuck_ him."

"You like ropes?"

Body heat against his back, too close.

"Fuck _you_." Johnny whirled and backed away all the way to the edge of the roof. He jabbed his finger at Spidey. "You're both _jerks_ , you know that?!"

Spider-Man seemed unmoved.

"Kiss my ass." Johnny flamed on fully—

Spidey didn't say anything. Just tilted his head, and watched.

Johnny left him on the roof in a rush of jet-blue flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the bondage tie Peter uses: [link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YMj8gW730Ro) (youtube how-to)


	2. Chapter 2

Maybe Peter felt a _little_ bad, practically invisible in his dark suit, just a gleam of dark gold in the shadows as he spied on Johnny through the big picture windows that revealed his bedroom.

No, scratch that, he didn't feel bad at _all_. Definitely not. No guilt. None.

But Johnny looked so resigned.

So raw.

It was too late to do anything, though. Peter had made good use of the time Johnny slept at his apartment—traded the car for cash immediately at a chop shop he knew, nestled out of the way where they'd either disassemble it for parts or ship it out of the country to some wealthy buyer. That out of the way, it had taken him less than an hour to break into Johnny's phone, wipe it, and pawn it along with the contents of his wallet.

Peter let himself fall from the side of the Baxter Building, catching himself at the last second to swing up into the air. From his arc, he shot a packet of webbing at the window, sticking Johnny's driver's license and other personal things to the glass.

The only things he'd kept. 

After all, what he'd said earlier was true—

He wasn't a _monster_.

At least, most of the time.

He'd definitely used Johnny's credit card to buy $200 worth of groceries, though.

Everything else would cover his rent nicely, and more importantly, his aunt's health insurance copays and other bills.

Peter swung between the city buildings, weaving in and out, relishing the rush of wind around him and the pull of his muscles. The reflexivity of holding, releasing, shooting, in carefully learned patterns of repetition and improvisation. On a downward swing, he snagged someone's bag of takeout (and their drink, too) from the top of their car, ignored their shout, tossed it on the upswing, landed on a nearby rooftop, and shot out a line to reel in his loot before it could fall to the ground.

Thai food.

 _Nice_.

Peter kicked his heels up and dug in, pointedly not thinking about Johnny's sad eyes.

Oh, but he had such a weakness for the sad, pretty ones.

Nothing some curried egg noodles and creamy iced tea couldn't fix, though.

He'd practically forgotten all about it by the time he got home, just before dawn and ready to get some sleep. First, a quick wipe-down with a wet rag—he really needed to fix his shower—and a quick note to himself to return the Hope Diamond to the museum in the morning. Currently locked up in the safe he'd built into a false drawer on his dresser, where he'd stashed it after Johnny fell asleep.

Peter fell into bed naked, ready to pass out—

The smell of Johnny's sea breeze perfume lingered in his sheets, just enough for his heightened senses to pick up easily.

Fuck his stupid conscience.

It wasn't like he'd _set out_ to make money off of Johnny.

He just wanted to bug him, and what was supposed to be a pit stop turned… well… intimate. Was it Peter's fault that he'd seen an opportunity in the wealthy celebrity sleeping in his bed? Was it his fault that the weight of survival required money? He'd seen his chance and he'd taken it. Johnny Storm owned half a dozen cars already, and wore designer sunglasses and thousand dollar jeans. He could afford a little robbery.

But Peter hadn't considered the emotional side of things.

"Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit." He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Stop feeling."

Easier said than done.

He rolled over and sighed, reaching for his beat up old phone.

While he didn't expect Johnny to answer the Baxter line, he couldn't help his slow disappointment when the Fantastic Four's answering machine clicked on. 

What the hell was he supposed to say, anyway? For all Johnny knew, Peter hadn't seen him since he'd fallen asleep in his bed that afternoon. For all Johnny knew, Peter had no reason to feel anything other than pleased. A sexy hook-up _and_ a profit? All good things.

Peter hung up without leaving a message.

Despite everything, he did manage to fall back asleep, awash in the fading scent of Johnny's perfume—

His phone woke him up at six in the goddamn morning.

Peter fumbled half-conscious for it, barely managing to see the big 4 on the caller ID before mashing the phone to his face with a mumbled, "Why."

"You! How _dare_ you!"

Great.

"You _used_ me! You stole my phone! And you have the audacity to—to—!"

Peter groaned and rolled onto his back, digging his finger into the spot between his eyebrows as he half-listened to Johnny work through his hurt feelings. Lots of "you took advantage of me" and "I hate you" and "did any of that mean anything to you?!"

"Johnny." Peter interrupted him in the middle of a sentence. "Shut up."

Johnny went silent like he'd been slapped.

Okay, maybe Peter could have been gentler.

"Listen, Johnny, I'm sorry." The disbelieving huff on the other end didn't deter him from forging onward. "I really am. I didn't mean to make you cry—" He ignored Johnny's protest that Peter did not in fact have any proof he'd made Johnny cry. "—I just wanted to hang out and things went places and… I needed the money, okay? I know you don't care, and you don't understand, but I didn't set out to hurt you."

Silence, now. Just waiting for Peter to keep talking, maybe. Waiting for further apology or explanation that Peter couldn't necessarily give.

"Let me give you a ride for real, this time."

Johnny sputtered.

Peter cut him off before he could explode. "I mean it, out to the mountains." He closed his eyes as he talked, lounging with his limbs spread out across his sheets. "Just you and me, a picnic basket…"

Quiet again.

"Some lube…"

Johnny grunted. "You're awful. You're terrible, the absolute worst, and I hate you—"

"Is that a yes?" Peter grinned.

A sigh.

And…

"Yeah… okay. Thanks for not selling my driver's license."

Peter let himself be smug, just for a moment, and said, "I'll pick you up at noon. Wear something revealing."

"I'll wear boots to kick your ass with. Don't be late."

"Wouldn't dream of it, beautiful." Peter hung up without bothering to say goodbye and lay a moment staring up at the ceiling.

Well. That was easier than he'd expected. Must have been his irresistible charm and good looks. His patented Peter Parker Sex Appeal.

Or maybe just some Parker luck gone right for once.

But if he was going to go on a picnic date, he needed to take a _real_ shower, which meant he ought to stop by his aunt's place, and maybe she could help him out on the lunch front, too. He needed to write her out a check for the month anyway, and wheedle her into actually cashing it instead of "losing" it in a drawer until it expired.

He fell back asleep.

Waking again at eleven, only an hour to go until his date, Peter threw on some clothes, and stuffed his messenger bag with a nicer change of outfit and his Spidey suit (just in case), stopping to write out the check to his aunt. He grabbed a pack of pop-tarts on his way out, stuffing one into his mouth while he ran downstairs.

It didn't take long for Peter to reach the Parker home, a little old and a little worn, but still quaint as his bike cut the morning quiet of the neighborhood. The door opened before he reached the porch and his aunt smiled up at him as he bundled her into a bear hug.

"Peter!" She hugged him back, always surprisingly strong for such a frail old lady. "What brings you here? You weren't supposed to visit until Monday."

He kissed her on the cheek, and a little sheepishly, said, "I need your shower." But before she could get the wrong idea, he added, "And I brought you a little money, just to tide things over—"

Same as always—"Oh, I don't need this, Peter, dear," to which he responded "But I insist, May," and back and forth until he got her to accept the money which she most definitely _did_ need, between her health problems and the electricity bills, and the boy she paid to clean the gutters, and so on and so forth.

"Well, come in—get washed up!" May steered him down the hallway, and the house smelled just as it always did, as it always had since he was a child, familiar and warm. "I'll make you breakfast while you're in the shower!"

"Aw, you don't have to do that—" Not that Peter would ever actually turn down a big breakfast from his aunt, and they both knew that. "But I look forward to it, my beautiful, wonderful, amazing, spectacular, sensational—"

"Get your tush in there, you smooth-talker."

Peter laughed but held up his hands in surrender.

As promised, when he'd gotten himself cleaned up and dressed in his spare change of clothes, he found his aunt flipping wheatcakes, the kitchen full of the smoke of hot oil and cooking batter. Another deeply familiar smell, overpowering but welcome.

"Well, don't _you_ look nice." Aunt May swatted his hand away from the covered plate next to the stove. "Who's the special someone?"

Peter made a face. "Can't I look nice without going on a date?"

His aunt raised her eyebrows.

"Okay, okay, I'm taking someone out." Peter headed over to the fridge to pull out the syrup (oversugared, berry-flavored, unhealthful confection that Peter so loved) and set that aside so he could help his aunt set everything up.

She waved her spatula as if to say, " _Go on_."

"I'm taking someone out… to have a picnic." Peter set the table carefully for two, forks beside plates, and cloth napkins on the opposite side. "But it's more of an apology than a date."

May tutted, as she turned off the stove. "What did you do this time, Peter?"

 _Oof_.

"Eh… you know…" He gestured vaguely. "Made him feel used—It wasn't on purpose, I _swear_."

She didn't seem convinced.

"I _swear_ it, Aunt May, on my life." Hand on his heart and everything.

She smiled, and shook her head, and said, "Come get your breakfast, you terrible boy."

They served each other, and sat down to eat together, with the birds outside singing in the early morning. As they ate, they chatted, as they often did—catching each other up on things, from Anna Watson's new soda machine to Peter's obnoxious neighbor… and to, eventually, his picnic date.

And, of course, she got it out of him who it was—

"A _celebrity_ , Peter?" She pressed her hand to her chest in dramatic fashion. "Oh my, but I shouldn't be surprised. You're worse than your uncle Ben."

Peter made a face as he assembled the sandwiches for his and Johnny's outing. "Okay." He nudged her with his hip, and a sly grin. "Not your influence at all."

She scoffed, as if the mere thought of it was unimaginable.

But conceded, "Maybe a skosh."

Peter laughed.

By noon she sent him packing with not just the sandwiches, but some bags of chips as well, which she must have gotten for Peter's visits (as if she'd never snuck a few), some pickles she'd made recently, _and_ some carbonated lemonade she'd convinced the Watsons to let her make before Peter left.

As usual, Mary Jane—who was coincidentally visiting her aunt as well—avoided him.

And of course it took Peter at least ten minutes to say goodbye, if not longer, and…

One o'clock, on the dot, engine rumbling in front of the Baxter Building.

Johnny Storm looked none too amused.

"You're late!"

Peter shrugged apologetically and said, "You know how moms are."

Wrong thing to say, apparently—Johnny glared at him, arms crossed, feet firmly planted on the sidewalk.

He looked beautiful, despite it. Or because of it, maybe. Hair soft and carefully styled, diamond earrings catching the afternoon sunlight, maybe the only guy Peter had ever met who could pull off a [velvet blazer with matching velvet pants and a band t-shirt underneath](https://img.shopperboard.com/1162349/59f007e974858.jpg). And slightly feminine black leather boots.

"You look nice."

Johnny huffed, but his posture softened a little. He didn't look at Peter, but begrudgingly mumbled, "You too."

"What, in this old thing?" Peter plucked at his tropical shirt, suit hidden underneath. "Nah." He leaned forward just to catch Johnny's eye. "Come on, let's go."

He revved his engine, just to be obnoxious.

Johnny rolled his eyes, but a small smile cracked his frustrated exterior.

"Okay, _fine_."

Peter grinned.

Johnny was warm against his back, and he took off the moment he could—surprisingly strong arms wrapped around his waist, wind in his hair, reckless as he wanted knowing neither of them could easily get hurt even if he did crash.

Of course, that would have ruined their not-date, so he paid close attention to the road and his reflexes as they roared between cars, until they got out of the city, out of the suburbs, out and out until there were trees and shadows and less and less traffic, and he pushed the engine harder—

This was the second closest he could come to flying, after swinging, and he suspected Johnny loved it even more than he did, judging by the way he whooped right in Peter's ear when he accelerated down the first empty road they hit. His body was hot, his embrace tight, his presence almost intoxicating pressed against Peter…

A tingle broke through all of it to buzz up the back of his neck and he halved their speed as quick as he could just in time to pass a camped-out patrol car. Just within the speed limit, squeaking through. Peter grinned.

He kept the lower speed, though, and eventually found a trailhead.

"Here we go!" Peter parked his bike and hopped off with an exhilarated laugh.

The minute Johnny's shoes hit the gravel, Peter swept him close. He pressed their foreheads together, arms around Johnny's waist. Johnny seemed startled, a little flush to his face, a little smile, all taken aback. Peter really just wanted to carry him off into the trees—he refrained, though he brushed their noses together as he muttered, "You get to pick where we set up."

"Oh," Johnny ducked his head slightly, so Peter couldn't kiss him. "How considerate, for the guy who showed up an hour late to pick me up for his apology picnic after stealing all my stuff."

…Fair enough.

"I know, I'm a bad person." Peter let Johnny slip out of his grasp, and grabbed his picnic equipment out of his saddlebags, including a small quilt his aunt had managed to get in there through some feat of elderly geometrical magic. "Not even _my_ good looks can make up for it."

Johnny made a thoughtful noise.

Peter smirked.

"No." Johnny threw his hands up, turning his back to Peter. "I didn't say anything. You're ugly and you have a bad personality."

Peter snorted.

Johnny pointed at him. "One foot."

"….One… foot… what?" Peter's eyebrows scrunched up, as he followed after Johnny.

And Johnny, as he walked, said, "One foot away from me at all times." Before Peter could protest, he added, "Until I decide I like you again."

Great.

Here he was, trying to set up a romantic picnic date to gain Johnny's forgiveness, and maybe some action, and he had to be physically isolated from him? Until some arbitrary end point? Would the suffering _never_ end? How was he supposed to just sit a foot away from a specimen like that for who _knew_ how long?

"You're a cruel master, Johnny Storm."

Johnny crossed his arms and said, "It's what you deserve."

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Yeah, definitely what he deserved.

Peter threw the blanket at him.

The indignant yelp Johnny let out was definitely worth it, even if it meant Peter would probably have to wait even longer to get into his good graces. But if all went well… and if Peter's charming good looks worked as they normally did…

"You're an awful man, Peter Parker."

Peter shrugged. "I'd say it's what you deserve but I know that's not true."

Johnny scowled, but he blushed.

They found a nice spot, leafy and shaded with dapples of light to spread the blanket under, and Peter set their stuff down as Johnny sat. The velvet jacket came off, sunlight dancing in freckles over his pale arms, and Peter let himself admire Johnny a little bit. The way his eyelashes caught the sun as he reached for the picnic basket, the wide softness of his mouth, the sharp cut of his cheekbones…

Johnny caught Peter staring and a wash of pink stained his face.

Peter leaned back on his hands to shoot him a smarmy little grin.

"You're very pretty."

Johnny huffed, but Peter could tell by the way he kept blushing and the way he tried not to smile that Johnny was flattered. Probably full of butterflies, if Peter judged rightly. And Peter knew the way he made people feel. Knew the way he'd made Johnny feel earlier. He loved to watch those feelings dance across the faces of friends and rivals alike, knowing how hard he made it to stay away.

He reached for a sandwich from the basket—his hand brushed Johnny's, and Johnny muttered, "One foot…"

Peter smirked to himself and grabbed his food.

They didn't talk much.

Peter didn't mind. He wasn't an introvert by nature but he was content to think and watch and eat, listening to the birds in the trees.

Johnny seemed restless, flicking his hand back and forth, playing with a little tongue of flame while he ate. He tossed a little scrap of crust into the air and incinerated it before it hit the quilt, ashes wafting harmlessly away.

"Show me a trick." Peter flopped onto his back, folding his hands behind his head to smile lazily at Johnny.

Johnny blew out the tip of his finger, letting a little curl of smoke trail up around his face, and said, "I'm not a show pony."

"But I could mount you like one."

Had _not_ meant to say that out loud, for once.

"Wh—" Johnny turned red, and made a face, and turned his back to Peter as he snapped, "Fuck you!"

Oops.

"Is sex all you think about," Johnny's voice was muffled where he'd shoved his face in his arms, knees drawn up. The tips of his hair glowed slightly, red embers in the shifting afternoon shadows. "Or is it just because it's me?"

Peter sighed.

"I'm just a jackass, that's all." He looked up at the shape of the sky through the leaves, tapping one foot restlessly against the ground. "Mind in the gutter, no self-control. You make me crazy."

Johnny was silent a moment, and Peter thought he was just gonna get the cold shoulder, but then, quietly, Johnny murmured, "So it's my fault."

" _Shit_." Peter sat up. "No, that's not what I meant." He pressed his hand to his forehead to gather his thoughts, and make sure he didn’t say something stupid. "Does it bother you?"

He got a noncommittal grunt in response.

"…I'm not just trying to get in your pants again. Mostly." Peter fished out one of the bottles of homemade carbonated lemonade. It hissed as he opened it, and he continued, "I know I'm a jerk but I'm not just trying to use you, I swear. My aunt raised me better than that, and that's the truth." The lemonade was just sweet enough, and a little too fizzy. Peter toyed with the cap. Quietly, he added, "I'm not used to feeling guilty about the people I steal from."

Silence.

Soft—"Do you steal a lot?"

Peter took a long drink, hiding in the abrasive carbonation and acidic sweetness.

He cleared his throat. "You know how it is." Coughed slightly. "Daddy needs to pay his rent."

Johnny snorted, and dissolved into muffled laughter.

"What?" Peter frowned. "Was it something I said?"

"You're weird." Johnny ran his hand through his hair, resting it on the back of his head, still turned away from Peter but softening in his posture. "You know that?"

Peter shrugged. "Sure I do." He took another swig of lemonade.

He _was_ weird. He wasn't very nice, and he lived in a rundown crap-hole with expensive furniture, and he made a living selling photos of strangers to unscrupulous magazines and stealing from people who deserved to be stolen from, and sometimes he beat up street criminals and cops alike for fun. Not that Johnny knew about that last part. Well, he knew Spider-Man did all that stuff but he didn't know Peter was Spider-Man and Peter intended for it to _stay_ that way.

After all, he wanted to see _more_ of Johnny, not less.

"What about that…" Johnny shifted, so he could peek at Peter over his arm. "That diamond."

Peter almost laughed, and shook his head. "Just wanted to see if I _could_." He eyed Johnny—his crystal blue eyes and his faintly pink cheeks. "Not worth trying to sell something like that, and if I tried to turn it in for a fee they'd probably arrest me." He shrugged. "So I had a friend loan me a dupe and I swapped them out just to see if I could and to see if anyone would notice—and you know something?"

"…What?"

"No one noticed." Peter grinned wide, all teeth. "Just you, and look where that led."

Johnny glanced away, but he smiled a little. "I guess that was pretty fun…"

" _Pretty fun?_ " Peter sighed. "That's all, huh? Master diamond thief gives you a good time and all you have to say for it is 'pretty fun'? How many times did I make you—"

" _Stop_." Johnny shifted, flushed all over again. "Stealing my stuff sorta ruined my night."

Peter grimaced. "Okay, that's fair."

"Has it really only been 24 hours?" Johnny's eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

Peter moved closer. Not too close. Just close enough. "Less. But it feels longer."

Johnny put his hand out—he poked Peter's chest, nudging him back. Peter let him.

"One foot."

Peter grinned, but he surrendered. "Okay, okay." He caught Johnny's hand before he could pull away, and raised it to his lips. Just a light kiss pressed to his knuckles. "As you wish, your highness."

Johnny hid his smile as he pulled his hand out of Peter's grip.

***

Peter dropped Johnny off in front of the Baxter Building later in the afternoon, leaving him with a stolen kiss and riding off before Johnny could scold him over it.

He felt good. He'd gotten Johnny to laugh with him and even scoot a little closer by the end of their date, and that was good. Left him lighthearted and looking forward to the rest of the week, already thinking of ways he could woo Johnny back into his arms, and hopefully his bed.

But it wasn't just the sex.

The sex was great, obviously—but he wanted to make Johnny _smile_.

He just wanted to be around him.

"Ah, _shit_."

Peter had a _crush_.

"You fucking idiot—" He stopped outside of his apartment building with a curse. "Getting feelings for a goddamn _celebrity superhero_ —" He sighed, and rested his face in his hands for a moment.

Some random passerby said, "Happens to us all, bro" and went his cheery way.

Peter ignored him.

The day was quiet, surprisingly, and Peter grumbled to himself up the stairs, fishing his keys from his pocket.

Here he was, a bona fide criminal—a _master thief_ if you wanted to be generous—and he was crushing on a publicly adored human mutate who fought _space dictators_ for a living.

Good job, Peter Parker. Good judgment all around.

What would be his next trick?

Falling in love?

Settling down?

_Raising babies?_

"Oh, God, I'm fucked."

A tingle interrupted his thoughts of domestic bliss.

Peter hesitated at the top of the stairs, goosebumps raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

He could see his apartment door from the stairwell. The door itself had been ripped off the hinges, splintered in two, and caution tape covered the gaping opening. He could hear the crackle of a police radio. Voices.

"Oh, _God_ , I am _so_ fucked _._ " He spun on his heel and immediately ran down the stairs back the way he'd come. There was so much evidence in his apartment, so many things he'd stolen, incriminating documents. He should have destroyed all of it—He was going to be in deep shit, kicked out of his Masters in Science program, arrested, humiliated—

" _Fuckfuckfuckfuck_ —" Peter ducked into the narrow space beside his apartment building and shrugged out of his tropical shirt, quick-changing into his Spidey suit and grateful he'd worn it under his clothes today of all days. "My aunt's gonna kill me." He bundled his clothes into a bag of webbing and kicked it under the dumpster. He was going to go to jail and his aunt was going to be reduced to selling shoelaces on the street and Johnny would never sleep with him again because he would be a convict—

He shot a line and grappled up the side of the building.


	3. Chapter 3

A violent knock on the window startled Johnny out of his bathroom, half-naked and in the middle of getting ready for a red carpet event later in the evening.

 _Bang bang bang bang_ —

"Alright! I'm coming! Hold your horses!" Johnny finished putting in his favorite black opal studs as he made his way over to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city.

He wasn't surprised to see Spider-Man—after all, who else would it have been, fifty-some stories up a skyscraper in Manhattan? Not Daredevil, that was for sure. He opened the window and Spidey shoved it the rest of the way open, ducking into Johnny's room and out of the way as if he thought he might be seen.

"Close the curtains."

Johnny frowned, bewildered, but he shut the window and drew the blackout curtains closed, plunging his bedroom into a twilit darkness slightly tinged in blue. "What's going on…? Why are you here?"

Spider-Man's head snapped toward him, bronze lenses uniquely intense. Johnny fought down a shiver.

"Why am I here?"

He seemed suddenly uncertain. "I—" He stopped himself. "Your boyfriend's in trouble."

Warmth flooded Johnny's face and he stuttered, "He—he's not my boyfriend, jerk."

Spidey didn't seem to care.

He paused, giving Johnny a long look up and down, and Johnny realized his itty bitty silk dressing gown was open and his sheer flame-patterned underwear left little to the imagination. He scrambled to tie his robe shut and snapped, "If he needs my help he can just ask."

"He's asking." Spider-Man stole over to the bedroom door and opened it a crack, just to peer out into the hallway. "Is anyone else home?"

Johnny glared at him and crossed his arms. "The whole family's getting ready to go out. We've got a red carpet appearance at five."

Spidey tilted his head. Again with the staring and the undressing-with-his-eyes. Johnny tugged at the hem of his robe uncomfortably.

But then Spider-Man snapped out of it and started pacing.

"I need to—I don't know." He stopped in the middle of Johnny's room.

Frozen.

In the blink of any eye, he was gone. Johnny looked up—of course, he was on the ceiling—just as Sue called his name from down the hall. A few seconds later the door opened, Johnny scrambling for a pillow to hide behind.

"I'm not wearing pants!!" Johnny slapped a pillow in front of his crotch, banking on Sue falling for the ruse. It was only half a lie anyway.

Sue slapped a hand over her eyes, just as he'd hoped. "For Christ's sake Johnny, you've been getting ready for an _hour_ —" She sighed. "Just hurry up and get downstairs, okay? Reed wants to do some photo op stuff before we leave."

"Yeah, okay, whatever!"

Sue closed the door behind her with a grumble as she left.

Silence for a moment…

Spider-Man dropped to the floor with barely a rustle. "Thanks." He eyed Johnny. "That was quick thinking."

Johnny scowled at him and tossed his pillow aside. "Tell me what the hell is going on." He planted his hands on his hips.

"Okay—" Spider-Man held his hands up, and sat on the edge of Johnny's bed with a sigh. For a moment he just sat there, head in his hands, but eventually he said, "Okay. I'll tell you."

He took his mask off.

Johnny turned right around and locked himself in his bathroom.

Okay.

This was fine.

There was an explanation for this.

"Johnny, _please_ , I need your help."

"Why?!" Johnny didn't unlock the door. "How do I know you're not just lying?!" He scrubbed at his eyes, already burning with frustration as much as he tried to tamp it down. He really was an idiot, easily taken advantage of and deceived at every turn, never even stopping to think that things might not be as they seemed.

Peter's voice was quiet but clear through the door. "Please… Johnny. I need you."

Johnny stared down at his hands, white-knuckled on the edge of the sink.

"Everyone else I asked—no one cares." Peter kept talking. "You're the only one who cares."

"Maybe—" Johnny glared down at the sink. "Maybe if you weren't such a dick, I wouldn't be your last resort."

Peter sighed. He didn't deny it, though.

And Johnny couldn't deny that Peter was right. It was probably a mistake, but Johnny _did_ care. He frowned at himself in the mirror, but he squared his shoulders and unlocked the door, opening it just enough to meet Peter's dark brown eyes.

"…What do you need help with?"

***

Johnny left Peter hiding in his bedroom, with strict instructions not to touch _any_ of his stuff.

It wasn't like Johnny could just tell his family what was going on. And he couldn't bring him along. Not with the police looking for him. And Peter had nowhere else to go—couldn't put his aunt in that kind of position, didn't have anyone else who would take him in. So he hid out in Johnny's room, while Johnny left for the red carpet with his family.

Johnny smiled for the cameras, empty and charming, and the whole time he thought about Peter.

Peter, on the run from the law, frantically pacing as he explained to Johnny.

All the things his life hinged on. The money. The cops.

They'd argued for maybe a minute before Johnny fizzled out.

But Peter was right. Johnny didn't know what it was like to be desperate, anymore. When he was _younger_ , sure. But that was years ago now, and he'd grown accustomed to the cushy life with his family. He didn't have an aunt with heart problems. He didn't have to worry about student loans. Didn't have to worry about rent. About finding a job—didn't have to turn to theft to pay his way through a Masters degree.

Not that he'd even made it to the end of a Bachelors.

Johnny made small talk with a Broadway actress he couldn't quite remember the name of and tried not to dwell.

They had plans.

Once he got home, later that night…

Johnny blew a heart through a hoop of flame for some photographers. Booked a modeling consultation for the fall. Socialized and posed and flirted.

He drank at least three French martinis, successfully wiping his brain of all his worries, and danced with a ninety-year old interior designer who kept trying to hold Pantone swatches to his face until he blushed the right shade of pink. After a bit too much of that, Johnny found himself tugged away by Reed's long, winding arm, and pulled back over to their table.

Johnny stumbled a little, grinning as he tripped over his own feet.

"Easy now." Reed took him by his shoulders and said, "Sober up, son."

"I'm a _grown-up_." Johnny pouted.

Reed raised his eyebrows, and behind him Sue cleared her throat.

With a sigh, Johnny sent a quick wave of fire through the inside of his body; his veins and bones and every little inner cell without burning even a single fiber of his clothing. He flicked his hair out of his face, much more clear-headed now, and sat in his spot at the table, between Ben and the kids.

Ben reached over to pat his head, and Johnny swatted at him.

He'd spent forty-five minutes styling his hair to be perfectly casual, he didn't need that big oaf to mess it up.

The night wound down, and his worries crept back in as he wondered what Peter might be up to…

What if Johnny had fallen for another trick—what if Peter had been lying to him, and he'd used this opportunity to steal the rest of Johnny's stuff? To let crooks into the Baxter Building and clear the whole place out—

No. Peter wouldn't have revealed himself the way he did just to rob the Fantastic Four.

And he wouldn't be that stupid, anyway.

After all, Reed had an arsenal.

A totally _non-lethal_ arsenal…

Johnny ate a roll and counted down the minutes until they could leave.

Slowly…

Polite handshakes here…

A false promise to get in touch there…

Firmly informing a handsy producer that if he wanted to keep said hands he would back off…

Finally—

"I'm gonna fly home!" Johnny ran out before Sue or anyone else could protest, and shot into the sky in a an arc of shimmering flame.

He made it to the Baxter Building long before the rest of the group, without the worries of traffic or speed limits or any of that other stuff, and landed on the deck outside of his bedroom in a shower of dying sparks. He slunk inside, and only as he shut the window behind him did he realize he'd incinerated his very expensive red carpet clothes.

"Oh, damn," Johnny brushed some ash from his bare arm.

"Wow."

Okay. Right. Priorities.

Johnny frowned at Peter, who sat on the floor surrounded by…

"Did you take apart my stereo?!"

Peter made a face, half-sheepish, half-stubborn. "I was bored… and anxious."

Johnny let out an angry puff of smoke but he cooled down and strode across his room to wrench open his wardrobe—the one specifically for his uniforms and costumes. "You're just always like this, huh?" He flicked through his costumes and pulled out one he never used—black all over with an oily sheen, and largely plain but for some carefully placed seams to give it style and structure. "Just fucking with other people's stuff and then acting all innocent?"

Peter sighed. "I can't just _sit_."

"Obviously." Johnny pulled his underwear down—the only thing that hadn't burned to ash—and ignored Peter staring at him as he pulled his costume on. It was made specifically to be worn without underwear, one of his only skintight costumes, and specially reinforced under Reed's supervision to be durable, flameproof…

Snug, tight, and stealthy.

"Wow…"

And, yeah, it made his ass look great.

Johnny crossed his arms and snapped, "Is that all you know how to say?"

Peter shrugged with a not-at-all regretful grin. "With a body like that, you wipe the words right out of my head."

 _Not_ flattering. _No_. Johnny was _not_ blushing.

He rolled his eyes and strode across the room to sit on the edge of his bed. "Perve."

"M-hm." Peter stood, pulling on his Spider-Man mask. Of all the people to talk about bodies—he definitely had an impressive one, himself. Long, lean, muscular, and tall. Very much Johnny's type. He stretched, and grumbled, "Let's go."

He was out the window almost before Johnny could process it—

"Hey!"

Johnny dove after him, trailing copper-orange flames behind him.

Yeah, okay, maybe his powers made a "stealth" suit kind of pointless.

At least he looked good.

Peter led him in a convoluted chase, out to the Bronx, past that, above neighborhoods Johnny didn't know, until eventually he set down on top of a building. Johnny landed next to him, letting his flames die fast so they stood in darkness.

"You." Peter leaned close. "Grab on to me, or you walk."

Johnny almost argued, but he just steeled himself and said, "Fine."

Peter grabbed him around the waist and jumped off the roof.

Swinging was different from flying, especially with all the control relinquished to someone else, and Johnny clung tightly to Peter. _That_ was familiar. This was the machinery and the movement at work, carefully constructed into something lithe and powerful.

Flamed off, Johnny was more susceptible to the forces of gravity, inertia, momentum—but still, he loved it.

They landed on Peter's fire escape with barely a whisper.

Peter leaned over to peer through the window. Johnny didn't dare move a muscle, waiting with his breath held…

"Okay." Peter spoke low. "I don't think there's anyone inside but be quiet, just in case." He let Johnny go and used his sticky grip to slowly draw the window up before slinking through like a cat.

Wow, he was flexible.

Johnny followed after him a little less gracefully.

The room was dark, but Johnny had good eyes, and he could just make out the lingering heat of long-departed men. Nothing else. "There's no one here." He snapped his fingers and held up a flame to illuminate the shadows—

"We probably shouldn't turn the lights on, though, just in case someone's watching."

Peter grunted, crouched on the floor and rummaging through a mess of papers. He sighed, and moved to another place. Scoping out every corner.

It was quite a sight. The drawers of his dresser had all been pulled out and emptied on the floor. His bed was off the frame, with the sheets ripped off. His closet spilled out, too, and that was the next place Peter checked. He swore, quiet under his breath, and slipped into the living room. Johnny peeked where he'd looked. He couldn’t tell what was wrong, but he figured it must be bad news.

"Ah, shit, my _bicycle_!" Peter kicked some laundry out of the way to grab the mangled Schwinn from where it lay under his overturned coffee table. "My uncle gave me this in middle school!"

Johnny didn't know what to say, so he didn't bother saying anything, just keeping an eye on the heat signatures in the building as far as he could sense them.

It didn't take long for Peter to scour his apartment, tallying up a list of all the things missing and damaged as he muttered under his breath, "Safe, bike, TV, stereo, microscope, door, closet, camera—"

He froze.

Johnny stared at him.

"They took my camera."

Oh, no, no…

"They're gonna take more than that when I'm through with you—"

"Johnny." Peter's dark gold lenses glinted from the light of Johnny's flame. He oozed a sour heat, all the muscle fibers in his body tense as he growled, "I'll get it back."

How was Johnny supposed to believe that?

Photos of him, _naked_ , _tied up_ , wearing a _stolen historical heirloom_?

"Those pictures could ruin my _career_ , Peter!"

Peter pressed right up into Johnny's space in a flash, slapping a hand over his mouth. " _Shhh!_ " He didn't let Johnny go even when Johnny took a deep breath and deflated. He held Johnny's jaw in impossibly strong fingers and stared at him intently through that impassive black mask. "If I say I'll get it back, I mean _I'll get it back_."

It shouldn't have, but the growl underpinning his voice sent goosebumps down Johnny's sides.

"…Okay."

Peter let him go.

He tore the caution tape from the busted-open front door and balled it up, tossing it over his shoulder as he disappeared into the hallway. Johnny followed him as quietly as possible, skin crawling, though he at least had the reassurance of being able to sense body heat. The coast was clear, and they snuck downstairs, possibly checking for evidence on the way—Johnny wasn't sure, really.

He didn't see anything.

"Oh, _fuck_ me." Peter stopped in the lobby doorway, pressed a hand to his forehead.

"What?" Johnny slipped up behind him, peeking out into the street.

There wasn't anything or anyone there.

"My bike." A resigned gesture.

Oh. There wasn’t _anything_ there, including Peter's motorcycle.

"You think they seized it?" Johnny squeezed out under Peter's arm, to snoop around the curb.

Behind him, Peter was silent.

When Johnny glanced over his shoulder, he was gone.

Oh, great.

"Where the—" Johnny tracked his heat signature up the side of the building and managed to follow his trajectory until—

He lost him.

"Crap." Johnny flew up higher to see if a better vantage point might help him but while Johnny had always been faster when it came to flight, Peter was trickier. There was no trace. Too many conflicting heat signatures, too many winding paths, Johnny's lack of familiarity with the area…

He let his flame dim slightly and turned back toward home.

As he slipped back into his bedroom, he peeled himself out of his uniform.

Ah, jeez, and his stereo was still disassembled on his floor where Peter had left it in pieces like the jackass he was. Johnny sighed and threw his suit at the laundry basket before tossing himself into bed. He could deal with everything else later. See if Peter ever showed up again, or if he was just going to stay away forever. See if Johnny's naked body wound up plastered all over the internet. See if he ended up ruined, alone and humiliated…

Much later, from the midst of deep sleep, a thud woke Johnny.

He sat up, bleary and disoriented, and peered at the shadow silhouetted against his window…

Wait…

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?"

Peter froze.

"Is that your _motorcycle_?"

"…Yes." Peter closed the window behind him as Johnny reached for the light switch over his headboard. The lights flicked on and Peter scratched the back of his neck. "I figured—"

"You figured you could just dump your stuff on me?" Johnny glared at him, and his stupid motorcycle, and his stupid busted bicycle, too. And a bunch of other stuff! He'd managed to sneak in a lot before he woke Johnny! "I'm just so _convenient_? Is that a mini-fridge?"

Peter sighed, and tore his mask off to toss it on top of his pile of things. "Listen—"

"No!" Johnny kicked his blankets off and pointed at Peter as he stood. "I'm sick of listening! You listen to me!" Peter stood silent, so Johnny kept going. "First, you fuck me and steal my car!" A visible cringe. "Then you show up late for our date!" Arguably unimportant in the grand scheme of things, and it had been a pretty nice date despite that… "And then you get raided by the _police_! And show up on my deck begging for help!" Johnny took a breath. "And then you break my stereo, and I help you anyway, and then you ditch me! And now you're just dumping your shit here?!"

Peter bowed his head, having at least the decency to look guilty.

"You're a criminal! But more importantly—" Johnny held a finger up. "You're an asshole."

Peter nodded.

Then his eyes widened.

The door opened.

"Johnny? Is someone—"

"Oh, shit—"

"Can you _knock_!?" Johnny grabbed his sheets from his bed to cover himself as Sue covered her eyes at the same time.

"I don't know, Johnny, can you wear _clothes_ ever?!"

Peter was out of sight, at least.

"If you don't wanna see me naked, stop walking into my room without knocking!" Johnny shifted so he could try to block Peter's crap out of view in case Sue peeked. "It's _my_ bedroom! I'm allowed to not wear pants in my own bedroom!"

Sue huffed, but she turned her back to Johnny and crossed her arms as she snapped, "The security system said there was someone in the building and I heard you yelling, so I thought maybe you were in trouble." She grumbled. "Pardon _me_ for worrying about your safety."

Great, now Johnny felt like a jerk.

He wrapped his sheets around him more securely, trying not to pout as he said, "I'm fine. It's fine. I was on the phone. You don't need to worry. Sorry."

"Okay." Her shoulders sagged a little. "…Sorry for barging in."

Johnny shrugged awkwardly. "It's okay…"

"…Night."

"Yeah."

The door closed, and his room was quiet.

From the floor on the other side of Johnny's bed, Peter let out a sigh.

Johnny rolled his eyes and sat on his bed with a scowl. "You suck."

"I know." Peter climbed up onto Johnny's bed beside him and flopped onto his back. "Sorry."

Now that Johnny got a good look at him, he realized Peter was hurt—a split lip, a cut on his cheek, and a black eye. "You're bleeding…" He reached for Peter, twisting a little bit to cup his face in one hand. "What happened? What did you do when you ditched me?"

Peter shrugged. "Worked out some tension."

"With your face?"

Peter's hand found Johnny's, and he slid his palm up Johnny's arm, touch light but firm. Past his shoulder—he caught Johnny's chin in his fingers. "You know me." He pressed his gloved thumb against Johnny's mouth. "I do everything face-first."

Johnny scoffed, but he couldn't help smiling. He knew he should be mad at Peter, and lock him out until he at least got back his camera, but he was just so… so… _Peter_.

So, instead of shoving him out of his bed, Johnny leaned down and kissed him.

Stowing his stuff in Johnny's bedroom wasn't _that_ bad, anyway.

"How'd you get your bike up here?" Johnny could taste the blood on Peter's mouth.

Peter shrugged, and mumbled, "I'm very strong," as he tried to get Johnny to kiss him again.

"Wait," Johnny didn't let him. "How'd you get your bike back at _all_?"

Peter let out an exasperated breath. "How do you think?" He tugged one of his gloves off with his teeth and spat it out. "I went to the impound lot and I stole it back." At Johnny's surprised expression, he grinned. "They didn't even lock the wheels."

Johnny shook his head. "You're unbelievable."

"I try my best." Peter tilted his chin up for a quick kiss, successful this time.

He got his other glove off behind Johnny's back, and ran his hands over Johnny's bare skin. Johnny ducked away from Peter's further attempts to kiss him, and instead kissed Peter's neck himself. Peter didn't seem to mind, tilting his head back with a pleased hum.

It was easy to be with Peter like this. Even though Johnny should have known better, it just felt right. His hands, his mouth, his body. The way he whispered in Johnny's ear…

"Wait," Johnny squirmed off of Peter, flushed and all-too-conscious of the fact that he lived with his family. He spoke loud enough for the smart-system to hear—"Computer, lock the door."

Peter grinned and rolled on top of Johnny. "Worried they'll walk in on you?"

Johnny flicked his nose. "Worried they'll walk in on _you_."

"Can't have that…" Peter grabbed Johnny's wrist and kissed the palm of his hand. "Better stuff a sock in it so they don't get suspicious."

Johnny made a disgusted face.

Peter snickered. He soothed Johnny's offended face with a soft kiss. "Kidding." More kisses, on his cheek, and his eyebrow, and the side of his nose. "I'd use something good for you." Their lips brushed. "A silk scarf…" He kissed Johnny, gentle but insistent.

Johnny softened under him, pleasantly warm at his touch, and murmured, "…Spider silk?"

"Oh, no, you don't want that in your mouth— _trust_ me." Peter wrinkled his nose.

Some things were just too much to ask for, it seemed.

Johnny pouted, and Peter laughed, nipping at his bottom lip. They fell back into slow kissing, the simplest thing in the world. But Peter was heavy, and Johnny had been asleep, and he wanted to get off of his back, so he pushed at Peter until Peter backed off with a questioning noise.

"I wanna sit on your lap."

Didn't have to ask twice—Peter hauled him up. Didn't even let Johnny do it himself. Johnny bumped their mouths together as Peter's hands closed around his wrists like vices. Perfect for Johnny, the ideal mix of control and restriction to make him want more. He breathed a little heavy into Peter's mouth, and Peter hummed encouragement.

"I've got—" Johnny could hardly stop himself from kissing Peter long enough to talk. "One of Reed's neckties. In my closet. Silk."

Peter growled.

A split second—Johnny was sprawled alone on his bed, tossed there breathless, and Peter had his head in the closet digging around.

"Other closet—"

Peter straightened up. "What?"

Johnny smiled at him from his bed. "Walk-in closet's behind that door."

"You have a—" Peter rolled his eyes and wrenched the door open. "Of course you have a walk-in closet, you pampered pretty-boy."

Johnny kicked his leg up over his knee and folded his arms behind his head with a smug smile. "You think I'm pretty?"

Peter grumbled something from the depths of Johnny's closet.

"Where—oh."

"Uh huh." Johnny bit back a laugh, under his breath. "The one with the math equations on it."

Peter groaned.

Johnny couldn't help it—he laughed out loud.

He got hit in the face with a bundle of silk fabric for his mirth, and in moments Peter was upon him.

"You think I can't make trig sexy?" He grazed Johnny's earlobe with his teeth, just next to his piercing. "I can make trig sexy."

Johnny shivered, biting back his grin.

He believed it.

***

Johnny lay pleasantly tired on top of the sheets, eyes closed and listening to Peter move around.

"Where'd you learn how to have sex so good?"

Peter snorted, rustling through something over by the window. "Practice, torchy. Lots and lots of practice." He tossed something at the bed. "What are you, an alien?"

Johnny flipped him off without bothering to open his eyes.

Peter just mumbled to himself mockingly. "' _Where'd you learn how to have sex so good._ ' Okay, dork."

" _Shut up_ , I'm sleepy."

Peter leaned over and kissed him quiet.

"I'm going." He reached up to smooth his thumb across one of Johnny's eyebrows, soft as he moved his hand to cup Johnny's cheek. "I'll be back later. In and out, real quick."

Johnny turned into his touch, and tried not to frown. "Promise?"

"Promise." Peter kissed him again. "I'll get those photos… Get back here…"

The frown won out, and Johnny reached up to keep Peter from straightening up—not that he could have stopped him, really. "And after that…?"

The spot between Peter's eyebrows wrinkled with his own frown, mirroring Johnny, and he whispered, "After that… what?"

Johnny sighed. He wasn't about to ask Peter to settle down, but—"The NYPD raided your apartment, Peter." He sat up, not taking his eyes off Peter's dark gaze. "There's probably a warrant out for your arrest. What are you going to _do_ about that?"

Silence, as Peter considered, his eyes flicking down in thought.

"I don't know." He knocked Johnny's chin. "We'll figure it out."

 _We_.

"I'm not your mob wife."

Peter grinned, with a quiet laugh. "Okay, okay." He knocked Johnny's chin. "I'll figure it out. I promise."

And then he was pulling his mask on, out the window—gone.

Johnny sat in his bed for a while as the sun rose, just resting his chin on his knees.

After a few minutes, he lay down and tried to go back to sleep.

***

Johnny didn't hear from Peter the next morning…

Or the day after that.

But he also didn't see him on the news, or hear anything on the city police scanner, or find scandalous photos plastered all over Twitter, so clearly something had gone right, here.

But then again, maybe they just hadn't developed the photos yet, and maybe everything was on the down-low and Peter was actually in a holding cell while they prepared the evidence against him and they were going to blackmail Johnny or worse—arrest him, too! For being an accomplice!

Johnny took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down.

Valeria eyeballed him suspiciously over dinner, and he smiled.

Everything was fine.

More importantly, his family—with one exception for little Val—didn't seem to notice his anxiety.

For once, he was glad his mental state went mostly unnoticed 99 percent of the time.

He kept his cool, kept to himself, let his family assume he was just a little depressed—wouldn't have been the first time—and waited.

The third night, just as he was falling asleep, a quiet noise woke him.

He jolted upright—"Peter?"

It was Peter, in his suit, moving a little stiffly. He tossed a plastic bag at Johnny, hitting him in the chest with it—undeveloped rolls of film.

"There you go, shooting star." Peter limped the rest of the way to the bed, and fell into it.

Johnny frowned, reaching for him, but hesitant to touch him. "You're hurt…"

Peter waved it off, as if it were no big deal. As if there wasn't blood seeping through the leg of his costume. "Five hour bus ride, sweetheart. Both ways. Killer on the back." He reached up from where he lay to stroke Johnny's cheek. "You have no idea how hard it is to get to DC and back with a police warrant on your head."

"I could have driven you…"

An odd expression flitted across Peter's face. "Would you have…?"

A separate question, supposedly. But Johnny knew the answer was yes. Rather than answer, he leaned down to kiss Peter briefly, and then leaned back. "Let me help you."

"Help me outta this." There was that eyebrow wiggle again, trying to pass everything off as no big deal. But Peter hissed when Johnny helped him with his suit, carefully pulling it down over the wound in his leg. It looked like it had scabbed over at some point, and then recently reopened, the scab cracking and letting new blood ooze out.

Johnny bit his lip, and tried not to worry too much. Peter was Spider-Man—he had super healing, and all that jazz. Durable. Like a cockroach in nuclear winter. Still, he couldn't help the tug in his heart as he helped Peter stand.

"What happened?" Johnny led Peter to the bathroom, mindful of his limp. He looked drawn, and tired, deep bags under his eyes, and greasy skin and hair. His black eye from the other day was mostly yellow now, at least.

Peter let Johnny sit him on the toilet with a strained grunt, but he sighed, and muttered, "Lost a fight with a handgun."

"A _gun?_ " Johnny grabbed Peter's knee, careful not to jostle him too much, as if he could use his heat vision to somehow see the trajectory of Peter's injury. "Is it—"

"No." Peter caught Johnny's wrist, fingers tight against his skin. "Bullet's gone." He laughed, not particularly genuine or amused. "My aunt always did say I should have become a surgeon."

Johnny frowned. Peter took his face between his hands.

"I'm okay." His thumbs grazed Johnny's cheekbones. "I promise."

Quietly, Johnny nodded.

"My suit absorbed most of the blood." Peter kept talking, though he seemed to gaze right through Johnny. "Everything's where it should be, diamonds included, and my aunt lied through her teeth to give me an alibi—bless her heart." He smiled, softer. "I'm okay."

Johnny closed the small space between them in a gentle kiss.

"Would like some painkillers, though…" Peter smiled crookedly against Johnny's mouth.

Johnny sighed, but he smiled.

"Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> This came about from the first prompt of spideytorch week 2020--villain--though it wound up more as Playful Criminal than Villain as far as Peter goes. Someday I'll get into some more of the actual Villain Peter, since I have that AU, but I can never resist an AU where Peter does crimes so I figured I ought to try for _something_.  
> I probably won't be participating much beyond this fic, especially as we're in the midst of moving... lol 
> 
> It's a bit rough around the edges, especially since it wasn't supposed to be very long originally, but I hope you enjoyed it no less!  
> Thanks for reading 🔥🕷💖


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